the best laid plansA Story by Woody ex-con on the straight and narrow January 3rd, 2013 Benny the Blade is
lying on his bunk. His fingers are laced behind his head. His biceps are
bulging, making the sweet inscrutable smile of the Mona Lisa tattoo turn into an
ugly smirk. He bends his knees and crosses his legs. His right foot jiggles to
a tune in his head. My dream is to fly, over the rainbow, so high! His eyes are fixed on
the small barred square of blue sky that is only marred by a single sliver of
cottony cloud. He wishes, not for the first time, that he can reach out and run
his fingers through it, kneading, fondling. He sighs. Fourteen bloody years in this hell hole! Fourteen
years of his life lost forever. He’ll be forty-two by the time he sees the outside world again.
One more year! They haven’t managed to break him. And when he leaves here…
Well, he has some unfinished business to attend to. He scratches his
crotch and tries to find a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. How he misses a pint
with the boys at the bar, a game of pools, the women! He sighs again. He hears the familiar
scratching and, beaming, he turns his head towards the base of the wall. Two
long antennae are scissoring the air, sensing it. Out of a crack in the wall, a
minuscule head follows, then the body of a dark brown cockroach. “Come on little one”,
cooed Billy, “come to Daddy!” The cockroach
scuttles across the cement floor and nimbly climbs the outstretched arm. Billy approaches
the insect to his puckered lips and (oh, God, I can’t even bring myself to
saying it) kissed the back of.. ugh! Yuck! Disgusting! I’m all covered in goose
bumps. Aren’t you? “Ready for your
routine, Smarty?” asks Benny. (Smarty?) Smarty seems to nod.
You didn’t expect me to make it talk, I hope. This is not a fairy tale. It’s a
true story told to me by Benny’s sidekick and partner in crime, Sean the
Shmuck. Benny gropes under
the bunk bed and brings out the shoestring he is hiding there. He dangles it in
front of Smarty, which starts climbing. Tentatively at first then quickly.
Then, Benny takes a paper clip from his pocket, straightens it then bends it
into a circle. He holds it upright two feet away from his pet, which comes
flying through the air, inside the circle like a circus lion through a ring of
fire, rolls on the floor and stands on its four hind legs. It waves its forepaws,
probably imagining a standing ovation for its performance. And the training
goes on. Summersaults, tightrope, rappelling, jumping, diving. The training has
been going on for the best part of a year. Benny’s future is all
planned. When he’s out of prison, he’s going to be rich and famous.
January 2nd 1999 The judge’s gavel
came down with finality. “Fifteen years!” he
rumbled. “No parole!” The court room was
jam-packed. It looked like the whole town was attending what had been dubbed
“the balls collector” by the journalists. Those who could not get in were
jostling outside. It had taken the task force three months to track “the
monster” down. He had mutilated 12 men by cutting off their testicles. His
lawyer battled hard to convince the jury that his client was as much a victim
as the unfortunate men who happened to cross his path. The jury, however, had
not bought into the sob story of the mistreated child who was abused by his
drunk of a father and yadda yadda yadda. Benny the Blade sat
next to his lawyer, in his crisp black suit and tie. He looked anything but
sorry. He had beady black eyes topped by thick eyebrows that joined in the middle.
He had a bulbous nose that looked like it had been broken in the past then
badly reset. His thin lips were pinched and a smile seemed to constantly hover
there. The obligatory scar ran from the corner of his left eye to his square chin.
His head with its cropped up hair seemed to rest on his shoulders without the
aid of a neck. As the police
officers were taking him to the Black Maria, he looked over his shoulder at the
judge and smiled. The judge tried to swallow the lump that threatened to choke him and subconsciously fingered his shrinking balls. (oh they do when you're scared, you know. the ladies wouldn't know).
January 14th 2014 Benny the blade is
sitting at his old bar, a beer in hand. He doesn’t recognize anyone here. He
anxiously looks at his watch. Sean the Shmuck is late. Some things never
change. The door opens and a
tall wiry man in his late forties comes in and scans the patrons. Benny raises
his hand and waves. Five long strides and Sean is at the bar. He vigorously
shakes his old friend’s hand, smiling from lump to lump (he did a bit of boxing in his younger days). He tells the barman: “This calls for
celebration, Harry. Give us your best bottle, please”. He turns to his
friend: “So, what’s this big
news you wanted to tell me?” “I’m going into show
business” “Say again!” “Yeah, you heard
right, mate. This show I’ve been perfecting for the past nine months. I’m going
to tour the country. I’m going to be rich. No more cons. No more holdups.” Sean snatches the
folded magazine that is lying on the bar and slaps his friend on the shoulder
with it. He then bends over and flicks something off Benny’s shoulder. “Sorry, there was a
cockroach on your shoulder. Please, do continue!”
© 2014 WoodyFeatured Review
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8 Reviews  Last Updated on November 13, 2014 Tags: prison, courtroom, show business, cockroch Author
WoodyMateur, Bizerte, TunisiaAboutok, time for an update I think. my old friends have come to know me pretty well, I trust so this is for the new comers. I'm a Tunisian 60-year-old teacher-cum-translator, book worm who enjoys writing.. more..Writing
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